Amanitia Aphrodite
by Undead Dungeon Master
Summary: A possibly Pattern-related experiment kills dozens in a mall, sending the Science Team off in search of a cosmetics manufacturer obsessed with developing a 'love potion,' and an unknowing embezzler who just wants love -- love with deadly consequence.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

**"Love Potion #666"**

At a Bun Hut counter in an upscale mall, a man is talking to Lucy Parker while she tries to open up for the day. Not a young man, not an old man, just an exceptionally average man. He's maybe thirty, kind of pudgy but very clean-cut, with glasses and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. Lucy is nineteen and hot, and she knows it.

She gives noncommittal monosyllabic answers to his boring and pointless questions, wondering if he knows how sad and creepy it is for him to be standing here hitting on her at ten in the morning.

She's certain she knows him from somewhere, but can't quite put her finger on it. Maybe he's a regular. She would tell him to buzz-off, but Lupino is managing today and he's a stickler about polite customer service.

"You haven't seen Star Wars?" the nerdy man asks her, incredulous.

"That movie was a bit before my time," she explains. "I'm only nineteen."

She smiles wanly, wishing he would just get the hint. He smiles awkwardly, not getting it at all. They share a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"If that's everything," she offers gently. "I have to get back to work."

The man nods, fishing in his pocket for something. Lucy tenses, fearing he will offer her some sort of present and push the situation from awkward and uncomfortable straight into creepy and weird.

Instead he pulls out a small black cannister and points it at his face, giving it a few quick pumps. Lucy represses a smirk. Is he serious, she muses, or has he just seen too many commercials for body sprays?

She had to admit, whatever he was spraying on himself smelled good. In fact it smelled great. She looks at him and suddenly realizes he's gorgeous, and she wants him. No, she needs him. She runs a hand along her body, touching her face, wanting to rip her clothes off and throw herself at him.

"You want to get out of here?" he asks.

She jumps up on the counter and swings her legs over. Sliding across, she puts a hand on his shoulder and leans forward, their lips meeting as she kisses him.

"Come on," he says. "Let's go somewhere private."

She wants him right here, right now, but lets him take her by the hand and lead her through the food court.

* * *

A minute later, Lupino stepped out from the back of the restaurant calling for Lucy. She was nowhere to be seen. He looked out over the crowd at the food court, trying to spot his employee. He was startled to realize that everyone in the court was tearing their clothes off, launching themselves at each other, going at it like dogs in heat.

Lupino started to cross himself, but as his hand touched his shirt, he felt a powerful wave of desire and lust pass through him, and instead he tore the shirt off his back and sprung over the counter, rushing to join in the frenzy of flailing bodies.

Two thin but steady lines of blood streamed from his nose.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

**"Let's Get Freaky With It"**

Olivia was frying bacon, with bread, lettuce and tomato already set out. She was listening to her sister and niece practicing reading drills in the living room. The ring of her cellphone broke the morning calm.

"Rachel," she called, and her sister quickly appeared in the kitchen.

"What's up Liv?" she asked, but Olivia was already answering her phone, nodding and offering a steady stream of affirmatives in response to whomever was on the other end. She held up a finger, and Rachel knew that meant silence, and then pointed at the bacon, and Rachel took over, ensuring it didn't burn.

Sometimes it bothered Rachel how casually her sister could reduce her to a silent pair of helping hands, but she had long ago recognized that her older sister was a natural leader, and the only way Rachel could make a place for herself in her sister's life was to be a follower.

Many people spout platitudes like 'lead, follow or get out of the way,' but Olivia was the only person Rachel knew who lived her life as an expression of the rule.

"An orgy?" Olivia was saying, incredulous. "And you think it's pattern related?"

Rachel looked at her quizzically, but she simply turned away, shutting Rachel out. That bothered Rachel far more than Olivia's unconscious bossiness, the way she habitually hid things from Rachel, as if she couldn't be trusted, or wasn't smart enough to understand the things she dealt with.

"I'll be right there," Olivia said as she snapped her phone shut. Turning to Rachel she added "I have to go."

Rachel smiled wanly. That was the other thing she never understood about her sister, the way she could drop everything for her work, the way she let it rule her life. It seemed so at odds with the always in charge Olivia she knew from childhood, to see her jump up and run off whenever her phone rang.

Olivia gave Ella a kiss on her forehead and disappeared out the door, and Rachel wondered what she was supposed to do with the bacon.

"Elle, do you want a BLT?" she asked hopefully.

***

The Prudential Center was a large upscale mall in downtown Boston. It had been cordoned off by the local police, and Olivia saw FBI vans and a mobile headquarters parked near one entrance. As she got out of her car, she saw Charlie across the parking lot, barking orders at the horde of junior agents he oversaw. She also recognized the long silver trailer trucks that meant Center for Disease Control. Men in biological hazard suits were heading into the mall via a temporary airlock they had set over the main gate.

As she walked towards Charlie, a long black sedan pulled up and she saw Agent Broyles exiting the car. Broyles immediately headed towards Olivia, and they met up at Charlie's position.

"What's the situation?" she asked, and Broyles looked to Charlie.

"We have twenty three victims. The attack seems to have been centered on the food court, but we're still gathering information." Charlie's radio chirped and he traded a rapid series of exchanges with whoever was on the other line, then announced "CDC says the building is clear of biologicals. It's safe to go in."

The trio walked towards the mall.

"You said something about a orgy?" Olivia asked Broyles. He frowned and looked at Charlie again.

"All of the victims were found in various states of undress," he said, and then hesitated, his face blushing as he looked away from Olivia. "The vics appear to have been engaging in sexual intercourse at the time of death, alone, in pairs, and in small groups."

Olivia raised an eyebrow and traded a look with Broyles, who was wearing his wry smile. Both knew that Charlie was a devout Catholic, and easily embarrassed by talk of sex.

"Cause of death?" Broyles asked as he pushed aside the heavy plastic barrier of the airlock and they entered the mall.

"Undetermined," Charlie said looking around. "That's actually why I called you in Olivia, I was hoping that mad scientist of yours could shed some light on this one. It looks like, and mind you I'm no coroner, but it looks like they, um, er."

Charlie flushed even deeper, stammering as he tried to find the right words. Eventually he gave up, and made a ring with one hand and then mimed penetration with his index finger.

Olivia looked at him in disbelief. He nodded and added "To death."

They walked a bit further, and then Olivia saw the victims. Pale cold white bodies lie splayed across every surface, clothes torn off and casually discarded, limbs entwined, and all of them with expressions of abject horror frozen on their faces. She could see signs of clawing and tearing, and noticed that all of them seemed to share signs of nosebleeds.

She pulled out her phone and speed-dialed Peter. This would definitely require Walter.

* * *

Peter stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, sure he had heard his cellphone buzzing.

"Walter?" he yelled as he dried his hair. "Was that my phone?"

There was no answer. He walked out into the hotel room he shared with his father, and called for him again. He was nowhere to be seen, and the front door hung open. His cellphone lay on the nightstand by his bed, and he picked it up. One missed call, from Olivia.

He grabbed a pair of jeans and slipped them on, and was about to call Olivia back when he heard a shriek from just outside the room. Dropping the phone, he rushed out and looked down the landing.

A heavyset woman with loud hair and loud clothes was shrieking loudly and pointing at Peter. No, pointing past him. He turned and saw Walter, enjoying the sun while sipping from a mug. It read 'World's Greatest Scientist.'

"Walter," Peter said carefully, as he shooed the woman away with a wave of his hand. "Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

"Peter!" his father greeted him, turning to face him. Peter grimaced and held up a hand to block his view. "I woke up this morning feeling particularly connected to the vital energies of the planet! It's wonderful!"

"And that's why you're not wearing pants?"

"Don't be silly Peter," he retorted, waving away the suggestion. "Confining the body in artificially treated fabrics limits the flow of natural energy. Did you know that all living creatures produce an energy field that connects all life on the planet?"

"The Gaia hypothesis?" Peter scoffed. "I'm surprised you believe in that nonsense."

Walter rolled his eyes as he returned to their room.

"Honestly Peter, you're so limited in your imagination."

"Yeah, that's it Walter, I'm limited in my imagination." Peter flipped open his phone as he shook his head. "Get dressed Walter, Olivia is going to want us."

He pressed a button and soon he was talking to Olivia. Sure enough, she wanted them.

***

Walter and Peter arrived at the lab an hour later, and found Olivia and Astrid already there, conferring at the video monitors. A body was laid out on the examining table.

"Walter, I need you to examine that body," Olivia commanded as they came in, and Walter's eyes lit up as he ambled over to the fresh corpse.

"Sorry we're late," Peter apologized as he joined the ladies at the monitors. They were watching security camera feeds, footage of a food court at a mall. Peter cocked his head and stared dumbfounded at the screen. It was full of people having sex.

"Don't worry about it," Olivia offered. "The crime scene was cleaned almost immediately. Someone really didn't want to keep the mall closed any longer than necessary."

"Are we watching porn now?" Peter asked. "Because if we're watching porn now, this job just got a lot better."

"This is the new case," Olivia chuckled. "Something caused these people to break out into a spontaneous orgy. Then they died."

"Really putting the freaky in freak occurrence, huh?" Peter offered glibly, and Astrid groaned as she continued syncing the footage.

"Oh, this is fascinating!" exclaimed Walter from the other side of the lab.

Olivia looked at Peter curiously but Peter was looking at Walter, a bit concerned by the things Walter would define as fascinating. They both walked over to the examination table, leaving Astrid to her work. Walter was swabbing the dead man's nostrils.

"Have you identified the cause of the nosebleeds?" asked Olivia. "All of the victims showed similar signs."

"Yes." offered Walter, adding "And no."

Olivia and Peter exchange a knowing glance. Sometimes Olivia suspected that Walter was less absent-minded than he let on, and simply enjoyed toying with her. Or perhaps it was Peter he enjoyed frustrating.

"This man's nose was not bleeding," Walter continued. "He merely had a runny nose. An extreme histamine reaction to an allergen."

Walter chuckled, and held up the swab for Peter and Olivia to see. It seemed to be coated in blood.

"Ordinary mucus," he assured them. "Simple nasal drip."

"But why is red?" Peter asked, and Olivia silently thanked him for it. Sometimes she wasn't sure when Walter was being cryptic or simply illustrating the limitations of her knowledge. While she wasn't afraid of science, her training was in criminal science and administrative management. Sometimes when talking to Walter she simply felt out of her depth. It was always a relief when Peter, who obviously knew his science, didn't understand what Walter was talking about either.

"Some sort of foreign matter, a red dust. The man's entire nasal cavity is full of the stuff. Perhaps he inhaled it."

"No, that doesn't make sense," reasoned Olivia. "If these people had inhaled a substance, there would be traces of it everywhere. The CDC would have found something. I was there Walter, there was no red dust at the scene."

Walter shuffled over to his microscope and began preparing a platelet. He fit the glass slide into the clips, adjust the lens, and began cooing softly at the sample.

"Mm, yes, oh yes, hmm," he whispered to it.

"What have you got Walter?" Peter prompted.

"It appears to be some sort of fungus. Yes, this is quite interesting. I've never seen a growth pattern quite like this. It appears to be inert now, but I'm quite sure this is what killed these people."

"Wait," said Peter. "What?"

"This man was exposed to a spore, which seems to have entered into a rapid growth stage, using the mucus membrane as a growth medium. I believe this man died of asphyxiation -- he was suffocated by this fungal matter."

"Can you identify the type of fungus, Walter?" Olivia asked, her curiosity piqued.

"I'm going to have to run some analysis on this spore, determine its properties, try to place its genus." Walter said, and then apologetically added "It may take a few hours."

"That's okay Walter," said Olivia. "You take all the time you need."

She looked at Peter and tilted her head, and he followed after her as she walked back towards Astrid.

"So what do you think? Biological terrorism? A new weapon of mass destruction?"

"Seems a bit strange, doesn't it?" Peter asked her, as he rubbed his chin. "Compared to some of the things we've seen over the last few months, a weapon that causes people to boink each other to death? It doesn't have quite the same effect as weapons that melt your face off or cause your mouth and nose to seal shut."

"Could it be unintentional?"

"You mean like the by-product of something else?"

"Exactly. What if this wasn't what was supposed to happen?"

As they reached the video monitors, Astrid was looking at Olivia triumphantly.

"Watch this," she said as she pointed to the screen and pressed play. "Check out the guy at the Bun Hut."

Olivia and Peter watched as an average looking man walked up to the counter and began speaking to the girl on the other side. Olivia watched her carefully, without sound she would have to rely entirely on reading body language, no small feat on a grainy black and white security camera taken at a wide angle.

Still, Olivia recognized lack of interest when she saw it. The girl clearly wasn't interested in the older man. Then he did something interesting. He reached into a pocket and pulled something out, waving it around his face. Suddenly the girl jumped up on the counter, and slid across it. She kissed the man passionately, and then hopped down and followed him across the food court, hands held together.

"Now watch this," Astrid said excitedly as she pressed the fast forward button and jumped ahead two minutes. Olivia and Peter both saw it immediately. It passed through the small crowd of early morning shoppers like a wave, radiating out from the path the man had taken away from the Bun Hut. People ripping their clothes off and throwing themselves at each other. Astrid pressed fast forward again, and the crowd went through high speed sexual escapades. It went on for maybe twenty or thirty minutes. Older people collapsed first, and the youngest and healthiest in the crowd seemed to hold out the longest.

What was abundantly clear was this: thirty minutes after the boy had done whatever he'd done, everyone in the food court was dead.

"Find me a better angle on that kid, and print me a picture and find out where he went next," she snapped at Astrid as she pulled out her phone and flipped it open. She pressed a button and speed-dialed.

"Hello, Charlie? I need a list of names for everyone who worked at the Prudential Center Bun Hut, and I need it now."

After a series of affirmatives, Olivia began scribbling an address down on a notepad. She snapped her phone shut and looked at Peter.

"Her name is Lucy Parker."

Olivia was already heading out the door. With nothing else to do, Peter decided to follow along. Olivia smiled as she realized he was coming.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO**

**"Love Is A Battlefield"**

Olivia and Peter pulled up in front of the small and well-maintained suburban home. According to Charlie, this was the listed residence of Lucy Parker. Peter followed Olivia up to the door, and waited patiently while she knocked.

"Nice place," he noted idly, smiling.

"Yeah," Olivia agreed and a slight smile played on her lips as she looked at the ground.

Peter's eyebrow went up archly as her regarded Olivia. She was a source of constant mystery. In the face of murderous mad scientists and insane killer mutants, she was cool as ice and totally in control. Yet the most casual of small talk could reduce her to a nervous wallflower, as if everyday life were a junior high dance. Peter wondered if Olivia's commitment to her work was a consequence or a cause of her awkwardness.

When she was in charge of a situation, focused on her goal, she was the most amazingly powerful woman he'd ever met. In normal social situations, where the goal was only to enjoy the moment, she seemed perpetually lost and unsure of herself. She and Walter had that in common, thought Peter, though that was perhaps the only thing they had in common.

Peter chuckled to himself and Olivia regarded him quizzically as a woman answered the door. She was a middle aged suburban mother, wearing a salmon pink sweater over a white dress shirt, and black pants. She matched the house and neighborhood perfectly.

"Hello?" she asked as she regarded Olivia and Peter curiously. "Can I help you?"

"Mrs. Parker?" Olivia asked. "Is Lucy Parker your daughter?"

"Yes," she offered nervously. "What's going on?"

"Mrs. Parker, my name is Olivia Dunham. I'm with the FBI," Olivia explained as she flashed her badge. "We have reason to believe your daughter may be in danger."

"Lucy?" she cried.

"Mrs. Parker, do you recognize this man?" Olivia pulled out a print-out of a blurry close-up of the man from the mall. It was a bad angle, and Olivia wasn't surprised when the woman said she didn't recognize him. The man in the video could have been her husband and she wouldn't have recognized him from this image.

"Has something happened to Lucy?"

"We're not sure Mrs. Parker, we're simply doing some routine follow up. I'm sorry I can't tell you anymore, but that information is related to a larger ongoing investigation."

Olivia placed a comforting hand on the anxious mother's shoulder, and assured her that she would be contacted as soon as they had any information about her daughter. Peter admired the skillful way that Olivia managed to reassure the woman and calm her down without making any concrete promises.

As they returned to the car, Olivia was frowning.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he opened his door.

"That was completely useless. All we did was frighten that poor woman, and we're still completely in the dark."

Olivia's phone rang as she opened the driver's side door of the government issue sedan. Flipping it open, she answered "Tell me what's happening Charlie."

"Astrid found footage from the mall's parking garage, and tracked the suspect to his car," explained Charlie on the other end of the line. "We got a license plate Olivia."

"Oh Charlie, I could kiss you. I'm wasting my time over here," she covered the phone with a hand and whispered to Peter. "Astrid got a license plate."

Peter smiled, but Olivia was already talking to her phone.

"Do we have a name? I'm sure I don't need to tell you to put an APB out on the car."

"Already done. That's why I'm calling you, a Boston PD patrol car just found the car, about half a mile from the mall. We're sending a unit over there now. We have a name, Douglas Pensieve, but I sent agents to the address listed with the DMV and the building manager says he hasn't lived there in years. We're trying to find something more current."

Olivia snapped her fingers and pointed at the glove compartment, and Peter quickly opened it up. Olivia pointed at a notepad, and Peter handed it to her, along with a pen.

"Okay Charlie, give me the address on the car. I'll meet you at the scene. Can you pick up Walter? We may need him at the scene."

* * *

"Oh! Oh my! This is wonderful!" Walter was hopping up and down, looking very much like a little boy who needed to pee, and Astrid knew he wanted her attention. She was getting used to the weird old man. She knew she would regret it, but she paused the video monitors and walked over to Walter's workstation, where he was rocking back and forth on his heels, a look of mischievous glee on his face.

"What is it Walter?" she asked, not really wanting an answer.

"Amanitia muscaria!" he exclaimed.

"And that is?"

"McKenna believed that Amanitia muscaria was the source of legends of the 'food of the gods,' the fabled _soma_ of the Hindu Vedas," Walter explained, though Astrid still didn't understand what it meant.

"We have drunk Soma and become immortal; we have attained the light, the Gods discovered," he quoted. "That's from the Rigveda. This is the stuff of the ancient religions, the Dionysian ecstasy cults, communion with the primal spirits of the earth."

"And that's what was in the guy's nose?"

"What?" asked Walter, puzzled. "No, of course not. Amanitia muscaria is a large toadstool with hallucinogenic properties. This is something entirely different."

"But it's a mushroom? What do mushrooms have to do with what happened in the food court?"

Walter's brow furrowed as he rubbed his chin, deep in thought. Astrid sighed and put her hands on her hips, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm. After an insufferably long pause, Walter glanced over at her and seemed to recognize that she was waiting for an explanation that made some sort of sense.

"Oh, I'm sorry,"he apologized. "I was thinking of mushroom omelettes. Have you ever had a -"

"Don't even start that stuff with me Walter."

Walter smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Of course not, of course not," he said softly, then launched into an explanation. "The substance in the man's naval cavity is a mycelium, the 'root' of a mushroom, using the man's mucus as a growth medium. Quite amazing really. As for the mushroom itself, it's a genetically modified variant of Amanitia muscaria. I've decided to call it amanitia aphrodite, on account of it's apparent intended properties. Aphrodite was the goddess of love, you know."

"Yeah, everyone knows that Walter. What do you mean by intended properties?"

"I believe that someone is attempting to create a inhaled microfungal hallucinogenic, in order to provoke an uncontrollable amorous attraction. The spores produce a chemical similar in design to methoxy-methylenedioxyamphetamine, or what the kids are calling 'ecstasy', which is immediately absorbed into the bloodstream and carried to the brain," he explained. Seeing that Astrid didn't understand his explanation at all, he added "A love potion, if you will."

"A love potion?" she asked, skeptical. "What happened in that food court didn't have anything to do with love."

"Well, yes," agreed Walter. "As I said, I believe that an affectionate sexual response is the apparent intended property. Clearly there are some...unintended properties as well."

Astrid and Walter both considered the body on the table.

* * *

Olivia and Peter pulled in to the public parking lot, which was situated under a freeway overpass. It was dark and gray, and the silver-blue minivan was parked deep in the shadows. Boston PD had already taped off the scene, and Olivia could see two of Charlie's field agents controlling the cops.

As she walked towards the scene, a uniformed officer held up a hand to warn them off.

"Sorry ma'am," he explained. "This is a crime scene.'

Olivia smiled at the officer and flashed her badge, and he stepped back apologetic. As they passed he regarded Peter curiously. Peter got that a lot, he found. Apparently Peter didn't look like FBI, something he took a small amount of pride in.

They approached the minivan and an agent joined them.

"Agent Francis hasn't arrived?" she asked, and the junior agent nodded.

"We have a victim, unknown identity, unknown causes," she explained. "Boston PD found the car about half an hour ago, we just arrived on the scene. No one has examined the body yet."

Olivia nodded and poked her head in the open door of the minivan.

"Was it found like this?" she asked as she looked at the victim. It was Lucy Parker. Her clothes ripped open, slumped back against the opposite door, skin pale and white, her eyes open and glassy, with twin streams of blood trailing from her nose. She reminded Olivia of the overdosed junkies she had seen early in her career, when she was a junior agent participating in drug seizures and other, simpler forms of law enforcement.

"Yes ma'am," the junior agent responded. "The door was open when Boston PD found it."

"What are you thinking?" asked Peter.

"I don't know that our suspect knew about the side effects of whatever he's using to do this. I think he brought her here intending to have sex with her, and then this happened."

"And he ran," Peter concluded. "Gotcha."

"Exactly," she continued. "If he knew this would happen, he wouldn't have run and left his car. This is panic."

The second agent approach them, his hand over his phone.

"Agent Dunham," he interrupted. "We've got an address for the perp."

Olivia's eyes lit up.

"Write it down for me," she ordered, and then to Peter. "You want to ride along, or wait for Walter?"

"I have seen as much of Walter as I ever want to see today," he chuckled.

* * *

Douglas Pensieve paced back and forth across his living room. His face itched, and he scratched it absently. He walked to his bathroom and consider himself.

Angry red streaks ran across his cheeks where he had scratched. Small pimples dotted his cheeks. The microfungus had unexpected side effects, he mused.

Suddenly the image of Lucy intruded on his thinking. Lucy who had always ignored him, never noticing his constant attempts to engage her in conversation, his fumbled efforts at flirting. The microfungus had changed all that.

It had been glorious at first. He'd never seen a woman look at him like that, with such obvious lust and longing. If he'd wanted, she would have let him have her right there on the counter of the Bun Hut. When he'd suggested they retreat to his minivan, she whined with frustration but came along, willing to do anything for him.

Once they'd arrived at the car, she was unstoppable, tearing off her clothes and launching herself at him. They found themselves in the back seat, a tangled mess of limbs awkwardly thrusting and moaning, her fingernails raking across his back as they met.

Then her moans had changed in quality, from pleasure to pain. She started thrashing, clutching at her face. Blood had started gushing from her nose, and she began coughing up clumpy chunks of blood-stained phlegm.

He watched in horror as she convulsed and died in his arms. He'd run from the car, run all the way to his home. Sheer terror made the two miles fly by, and he had collapsed in a sweat-stained heap at his door.

Now he paced in his living room, listening to the midday news. A 'tragedy at the mall' was what they were calling it. Over twenty dead in after the 'accidental release of gas.' The media was covering it up, but he knew what it meant. It meant Lucy Parker wasn't the only person he killed today.

They'd be coming for him, he thought. Coming to get him, to punish him.

He heard a car door slam shut in the parking lot outside, and went to his window, peeking through the blinds. A tall serious looking blond woman in a dark jacket was walking towards his apartment, followed by a scruffy looking man in a leather flight jacket and sunglasses.

She was government, Douglas knew it. If the severe and somber clothing she wasn't clue enough, the black sedan she'd driven up practically screamed federal agent. The man, he wasn't so sure about. He looked like he might be a professor at the local community college, he had that sort of hipster academic air.

Douglas let go of the blind, his mind racing as he tried to decide what to do. It wasn't his fault, he thought, he didn't deserve to go to jail.

* * *

Charlie walked into Walter's Harvard lab, and looked around cautiously. The lab kind of freaked Charlie out, and he half expected some monster to jump out of the shadows. Instead the cow mooed. The cow was one of those things about the lab that made him nervous.

Astrid and Walter were cooking something up, each of them wearing safety goggles. Walter held a beaker in either hand, and Charlie half expected him to scream 'It's alive!'

"Hey," he offered hesitantly. "Walter? I'm supposed to take you the crime scene."

"Hmm?" Walter replied, distracted. "One moment Agent Fences, this is a critical stage."

"It's Francis," he responded, but Walter was ignoring him. "Agent Francis."

Astrid smiled sympathetically. The pair of them stood silently and watched Walter work.

"What's he making?" he asked quietly.

"Some sort of fungicidal injection," Astrid explained. "An antidote to the love potion."

"Love potion?"

Astrid only shrugged.

Charlie's phone rang. He offered silent thanks for the much appreciated distraction as he answered it. As he hung up the phone, Astrid looked at him expectantly.

"Olivia is on her way to pick up the suspect," he explained. "She wants Walter to check out the crime scene, confirm that the cause of death is the same."

Astrid nodded, but Walter reacted more strongly.

"What? No! That would be incredibly dangerous!"

"Why?" asked Charlie, already dialing Olivia on his phone.

"They'll need to be immunized before having any contact with our fungal Romeo. He may still be contagious."

* * *

Olivia knocked on the door on the townhouse apartment. It was second story walk-up in one of those large sprawling apartment complexes, full of dead ends and lettered buildings.

"I thought these guys all lived in condemned warehouses," Peter chuckled.

"Yeah," Olivia laughed. "This is a bit mundane, isn't it."

The door opened and a pudgy man peered out at them. Olivia couldn't be certain, but this could be the man on the video.

"Douglass Pensieve? I'm Agent Olivia Dunham," she flashed her badge. "FBI."

Pensieve's eyes went wide, and he slammed the door in their face. Olivia cursed and stepped back from the door.

"Stand back," she warned Peter, and he stepped away. Raising her foot she kicked the door hard, and the flimsy lock burst as the door was flung open.

Olivia drew her sidearm and entered the room, sweeping it in a cover pattern. She immediately noted a strong flowery scent, quite pleasant if a bit cloying.

She crossed the room, and entered the short hallway after peeking into the kitchen to see if it was clear. Peter followed after her, sniffing the air.

"What do you think that is?" he asked.

Olivia shushed him as she approached a door. She opened the door and swept the room with her gun. It was empty, except for an open window. She rushed to the window, and saw Pensieve hustling across the lawn, heading for the parking lot. She could cut him off if she went out the front door.

Olivia turned and Peter was right behind her. As he stepped into the room, a light breeze caught the cheap and flimsy door and slammed it shut. Peter turned, startled, to look at the door, and when he looked back at Olivia he didn't recognize her expression. Her lip curled in a feral sneer, and her eyes narrowed, the look of a predator having just spotted its meal. Peter found himself suddenly excited.

"I want you," she growled as she shrugged off her jacket. "I want you right now."

Peter simply nodded obediently, and tossed his coat on the ground while Olivia threw her jacket aside and began pulling her blouse over her head, not bothering to unbutton it. As it hit the ground, her jacket began ringing. It was her phone, but she ignored it, far too interested in Peter.

Peter had already removed his shirt and was busy unzipping his jeans. They fell down around his ankles and he realized his shoes were still on. He kicked them off, hopping as he struggled to free his ankles.

Olivia grabbed him, pulling him close and grabbing his face. Their lips met and she kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth while he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him.

She stumbled back as he returned her kiss, and felt a desk behind her. She hopped up, and Peter leaned forward, his fingers fumbling with the clasp on her slacks.

Olivia's phone rang again, and for a brief moment Peter thought something might terribly wrong, and pushed Olivia back.

"What are we doing?" he asked her, panic fighting with lust.

She slapped him across the face, and her palm left a stinging red mark.

"Shut up," she moaned as she pulled him close and began chewing on his ear. "Just kiss me."

A drop of crimson liquid fell from her nose and splattered on the room's beige carpet.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER THREE**

**"The Love Doctor Is In"**

"What are we doing?" Peter asked Olivia as he pushed her away.

Olivia slapped him across the face, and her palm left a stinging red mark.

"Shut up," she moaned. "Just kiss me."

That was all he needed, and his fingers returned to their task. He unfastened her pants and slid them off her, throwing them aside. Their lips met again, and Peter's reached around her, his fingers finding the clasp on her bra. He pinched it and it sprung free.

The door burst open and Peter and Olivia blinked as Charlie entered, gun drawn and ready. Olivia looked at him hungrily, hardly noticing that Astrid was rushing in behind him.

Peter stumbled back, unsure what was happening, and Olivia shoved him aside. She stalked towards Charlie, and he backed up, holding the gun up and away, so that he wasn't threatening her. She grabbed his jacket, and he looked helplessly at Astrid.

"Oh Charlie," Olivia tempted as she planted a kiss on him. "You're so yummy."

Charlie squirmed in her grip, trying to push her away, but when his hand brushed against the soft curve of her breast, he pulled it away as if she were a hot stove top. He tried to turn his head, so that their lips wouldn't meet, and she slobbered on his chin.

Astrid was raising a hypodermic needle, ready to plunge it into Olivia's almost entirely exposed backside, when she felt Peter's hand on her shoulder. She looked back at him and saw that he was looking at her as if she were edible. She also noticed with some embarrassment that Peter apparently believed in 'going commando.'

"Don't worry lover boy," she said with a nervous laugh as she stabbed the needle into Olivia's posterior. "You're next."

Olivia jumped, startled, and turned around, chasing her tail like a dog. As she turned she found herself getting dizzy and lightheaded, and collapsed to the floor.

Peter had wrapped his arms around Astrid's waist, and was nuzzling her neck. She pulled a second needle from her pocket and implored Charlie with her eyes. He was starring dumbstruck at the half-naked Olivia sprawled on the floor, and gulped guiltily when he realized Astrid was watching him watch her. He stepped up and grabbed Peter, pulling him away before his hands reached anywhere too inappropriate. Peter looked at him and smiled, reaching up to run a hand through Charlie's hair.

"Hey, you're kinda cute," Peter smiled.

Charlie backed up with an awkward laugh, and now it was his turn to implore Astrid. She smiled and plunged the needle into Peter's tush. His eyes went wide, and then immediately softened and lost focus as he collapsed against Charlie. Charlie let out a sigh of relief as he lowered Peter to the ground.

Walter walked down the hall, passing by the door, seeming lost and confused. Astrid called out his name, and he paused looking for the source. Spotting her he ambled into the room, a worried look on his face.

"Have you seen my son? His name is Peter," he asked, and then noticed Peter and Olivia lying in a tangle of naked limbs on the floor. "Oh there he is."

Walter contemplated Peter and Olivia, and turned to address Charlie.

"Were they having sexual intercourse?" he asked nonchalantly, and Charlie stammered something unintelligible in response.

"I hope so," Walter opined with a broad grin. "Sexual intercourse is important to the development of male and female relationships."

Charlie nodded weakly in agreement, looking at Astrid for help, but she could only shrug.

* * *

Olivia woke in a bright white room. Blue curtains surrounded her. It smelled sterile, the air heavy with the strong odor of disinfectants and antiseptics. She was in a hospital.

She looked to either side. To her right there were medical monitors and an IV drip. To her left Peter was sleeping in a second bed, an oxygen tube taped to his face.

Charlie was standing outside the door, talking with a doctor.

"Charlie?"

He turned at the sound of his name and rushed to Olivia's side.

"Hey there," he said with a smile. "How you feeling?"

"Rough," she admitted as she sat up in the bed. "What happened?"

"You and Peter got a dose of something Walter is calling an inhaled microfungal. Apparently you had mushrooms growing in your nose."

"Yuck," Olivia offered weakly as she rubbed her sinuses. They were sore.

"I don't remember anything."

"Yeah," Charlie said slowly as he stared at the ground. "That's probably for the best."

"What happened Charlie?" she asked as she grinned sheepishly. Charlie's blush told her all she needed to know, and she felt herself blushing in return. She covered a smile with her hand. "Was it that bad?"

"Oh my god, my head is killing me," moaned Peter as he woke up.

Olivia smiled at Peter as he groggily looked over at her.

"Hey," he offered.

"Hey yourself," she responded. Then to Charlie, she added "Tell me something good. Make me happy."

"Pensieve got away, but we've got a manhunt on for him" Charlie offered, and Olivia gave him a sour glance. That didn't make her happy. "But we've got a lead on his employer. Stallinger Cosmetics. Name ring a bell?"

"No," Olivia admitted. "Should it?"

"They're a subsidiary of-"

"Massive Dynamic," Olivia finished. "What don't they make."

Charlie's nod and sour face indicated his full agreement with her assessment of fact and her opinion of those facts.

"Excuse me," Walter interjected from the doorway. "Is that Peter Stallinger?"

Charlie checked the notes in his file.

"Yeah, that's the guy. You know him?"

"Not personally, no." Walter walked to Peter's side and smiled down at him, patting him on the arm. "He was a student when I was still teaching."

"Could he be connected to this?" Olivia asked. "What sort of research did he do?"

"Oh, he wasn't the sort to do research. He was a dabbler, and I believe he eventually pursued a business degree, something useless like that," Walter mused. He shook Peter's arm, and added "Hah, I'm glad you didn't waste your time with anything like that Peter. You never pursued your education with the vigor I would have liked, but at least you pursued worthy subjects. Your -"

"Walter," Peter stopped him. "Tell us about Stallinger."

"Oh, yes. Peter -- that's Peter Stallinger, not you Peter, you're not he same person, you're not a clone, not of Peter Stallinger," Walter rambled until a sharp look from Peter set him back on track. "Peter Stallinger attended a lecture I gave on hallucinogenics and their application in stimulating specific emotional responses. He pestered me about it for the next semester, constantly stopping by my office, invading my personal space and writing me letters. The commercial potential of reliable aphrodisiacs was an obsession of his."

Walter glanced off in the distance, distracted, then added "I guess he found someone else to make him his love potion."

"Where are my clothes?" asked Olivia as she got out of the bed. "And where is my gun?"

"Your personal effects are in drawer in there," Charlie said as he pointed towards the bathroom. He the began hustling Walter out of the room.

"Walter," Olivia said to his back, and he turned. "I need you to figure out a way to find and neutralize Pensieve. If he surfaces in a public space, it'll be a disaster. Charlie, you and I are going to go talk to Peter Stallinger."

"I'd like a sample of the original inhalant. There is only so much I can learn by studying the fungus after it has began to metastasize."

"I'll try Walter," she promised as she took a few steps and the world spun around her. Gripping the rail of her bed, she added "And Charlie? You're driving."

* * *

Olivia was feeling back on her game by the time Charlie pulled the car into the parking lot of Stallinger Cosmetics, which was situated in a large business park in Lawrence, upstate from Boston. They walked into the lobby, which was all burgundy marble, gold and powder pink, with giant hanging photos of gorgeous women wearing far too much make-up. It was elegant on such a massive scale that it ended up being gaudy.

An attractive and stylish blond woman, almost certainly a model at some point in her career, approached them extending a hand. "Hello, I'm Karla Kouranova, vice-president of public relations for Stallinger Cosmetics. You must be agents Dunham and Francis?"

Olivia and Charlie exchanged skeptical glances at 'public relations,' and flashed their badges.

"We're here to talk to Mr. Stallinger," Olivia explained curtly. "Can you take us to him?"

"Certainly," Karla smiled, not missing a beat. Whatever else one might say about her, she knew how to maintain a poker face.

"May I ask what this is about?" Karla asked as she lead them up the main stairs towards the upper office. "I can't imagine why the FBI could be interested in _us_."

"Mrs. Kouranova," replied Charlie. "Do you have an employee named Douglas Pensieve?"

"Douglas? Yes, he's one of our technicians in Research. Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"We believe he may be involved in industrial espionage," explained Olivia. "Possibly connected to a murder."

"Oh my," Karla offered weakly. "That's terrible."

They reached an impressive and spacious lobby, and Karla lead them through a pair of double doors into a larger and more impressive office. A tall silver-haired gentleman in a fine tailored suit stood in front of the broad desk.

"Agents Francis and Dunham," offered Karla as an introduction. "This is our president, Peter Stallinger."

Stallinger stepped forward lightly and shook their hands.

"The agents are here about Douglas Pensieve," Karla explained, while fixing Stallinger with a steady gaze. Olivia wondered about the dynamic of the relationship. "Something about industrial espionage."

Stallinger wasn't as cool as Kouranova, and he blanched at the news.

"Douglas?" he asked, flustered. "Really?"

"Has Mr. Pensieve come in today?" asked Charlie, as he smiled at Karla.

"No, no Douglas has called in sick the last two days," she answered. "What is it you think he stole?"

"Does any of your research involve inhaled microfungal hallucinogenics?" asked Olivia, giving Stallinger a hard stare. The question shocked him.

"I'm sorry," he said, clearly unnerved. "Our research is proprietary information."

Stallinger looked to Kouranova for reassurance.

"I'm afraid we can't discuss that without a warrant," she explained.

Olivia stepped into Stallinger's personal space, and he shrunk back. Kouranova tried to come to his defense, but Charlie stepped in to run interference, smiling as he did so. She stopped in her tracks and and returned Charlie's grin with a smile that did not reach her eyes and could not mask the cold, hard glare she fixed on him.

"Mr. Stallinger, we have twenty-four people dead, an agent in the hospital, and all the evidence points directly to your company. Now I can get a warrant, and we can ensure there is a proper paper trail indicating our investigation of your company," she threaten, then more calmly added "or you can help us help you clear this up as quickly as we can. I think we share the same goal here."

Stallinger crumbled.

"You have to understand, we didn't develop it, and as soon as we recognized it was unstable we put it in storage."

"Develop what, Mr. Stallinger?"

"The microfungus," he admitted,and Kouranova hissed. "I bought it. We wanted to incorporate it into a cosmetics line. Irresistible beauty products."

He paused, a worried look on his face.

"Something happened, didn't it Mr. Stallinger."

"We never went beyond the animal testing stage. It didn't work. Well, it worked, but it worked too well, and it had side effects. It was...awful. We couldn't test it on humans."

"Yes, I imagine you couldn't," Olivia conceded. "Who did you buy it from? How does it work? Did Pensieve work on the project?"

"No, Douglas was developing synthetic replacements for certain hard to procure animal products for us, I didn't think he was even aware of the project."

"And who did you buy it from?"

Kouranova leaned around Charlie, and said "I'll get you that information."

"I'll also need a sample," was how Olivia thanked her.

* * *

As Charlie drove them back to the Harvard lab, Olivia studied the file they'd received from Stallinger. In addition to the file, Stallinger had given her two samples, one a small black spray pump labeled 'activator,' and the other viscous brown fluid labeled 'medium.' Most of file was highly technical data that was over Olivia's head, but she was able to understand a section on experiment protocols.

According to the protocols, the 'subject' was to be exposed to the 'medium.' After exposure, the 'activator' would then be used to temporarily stimulate production of the spores. The medium would otherwise remain dormant in the 'subcutaneous tissue.' Olivia tried to remember back to her university biology classes, and seem to recall the subcutaneous tissue being the deepest,fattiest layer of skin.

If Olivia understood what she was reading, then Douglas Pensieve had exposed himself to the medium, and was only contagious when he applied he activator. That explained why there had been no more outbreaks, Pensieve was either too conscientious or too scared to draw attention to himself. Olivia grimaced at the realization that it also meant Pensieve had turned himself into a walking mushroom farm.

It then hit her that she and Peter could only have been affected if Pensieve had intentionally activated himself as he fled the apartment, leaving a cloud of deadly spores after him.

She closed the file and stared out the window. It was raining and gray out here on the 93. Charlie looked over at her, and caught her reflection in the window.

"You okay Livvie?"

"I'm fine." Olivia turned and gave Charlie a tight-lipped smile, but her eyes couldn't sell it. She flipped open the file and began studying it again to avoid meeting his gaze.

She stared at a bill of lading from the Port of Boston. She had looked at the receipt several times now, but it finally jumped out at her. She couldn't believe she'd missed it on her first read through.

"Oh my god, Charlie," she said quietly. "You'll never believe who Stallinger bought the microfungus spores from."

"Who?"

"Zygomy Farming Technologies," she said, not believing their arrogance. Charlie looked at her, understanding immediately.

"Z.F.T."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**"A Real Fungi"**

Walter was engrossed in his beakers and microscopes, studying the samples Olivia had delivered to him, while Peter read through the files.

"Can you make any sense out of it?" she asked him.

"A little, but it doesn't seem to be adding up. Some of the properties being described in here, these just aren't possible."

"Hmm, that's not surprising," mumbled Walter as he shuffled by Peter. "It's all gibberish."

"What do you mean?" asked Peter.

"Those files," Walter explained, indicating the folder in Peter's hands. "They're bogus, bunkum. It's all a very well done hoax, all designed to make this substance appear benign. It's all written to appeal to the obsessions of a man like Stallinger. And, of course, to fool the sort of unimaginative commercial researchers that Stallinger employs. The amanitia aphrodite was definitely developed as a weapon."

Peter and Olivia exchanged puzzled glances.

"Walter," Olivia ventured, "are you saying someone _intentionally_ sold Stallinger a killer microfungal as a 'love potion'?"

"During the Enlightenment, charlatans in the employ of secret societies would seek funding for their revolutionary activities by selling aristocrats false potions of vitality, or promising that they could transform lead into gold."

"I think what Walter means," explained Peter, "is that someone saw Stallinger as an easy mark, a good way to raise money for their cause. Sell him a weaponized fungus as a love potion, and he hides it away forever. That's the nice thing about selling fake illegal goods, nobody reports you Homeland Security."

* * *

Agent Broyles leaned back in his chair, considering Agent Dunham over tented fingers.

"Tell me where were at, Agent Dunham. Is this Pattern related? Is this a terrorist attack? Will we be seeing more events like this?"

"I was hoping this was all an accident, Sir, that Pensieve didn't mean for this to happen. Now I'm not so sure."

"You think he did it on purpose?"

"No, I do think the initial event was an accident, I just don't think he cares. And I think he'll do it again."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think about this. Pensieve risks getting fired, sued, and thrown in jail for embezzlement to get his hands on the microfungus. He has a technology that would let him sleep with any woman he wanted. But who does he use it on?"

"A counter-girl at a Bun Hut," Broyles offered matter of factly.

"Exactly. It doesn't add up. How much you want to bet that Pensieve was a regular customer, that he didn't pick her random? That mall is only two miles from his apartment."

"You think he was going for the girl-next-door, someone he had previously fantasized about. Interesting."

"Something like that. I don't think this guy is thinking big, I think he's a small guy with small dreams and he's in way over his head. I think with each decision he makes he's creating larger problems for himself, because he's making consistently bad decisions."

"He's in a tail spin," he summarized.

"Exactly. I think Douglas Pensieve is making self-destructive choices, and that he's getting more and more desperate."

* * *

Douglas Pensieve looked in the rearview mirror of the Cadillac. No one was following him. He caught a glimpse of the caddy's owner, an attractive middle-aged woman, what most people would call a cougar, splayed out on the backseat. She'd finally died about fifteen minutes ago, maybe twenty minutes after he'd used the microfungus on her. She'd screamed when she first saw him, but then she couldn't get enough of him. Until she died.

He checked the pistol in his lap again. It was still loaded,

He circled the FBI's Boston office again, checking for security points. It looked like he could just walk in. He pulled the car over and examined himself in the mirror.

Something was going wrong with formula. His face was ashen and covered with swollen purplish bruises, as if he'd been beaten. His eyes were yellow, and he was pretty sure that meant jaundice. His liver was failing, which meant he was dying.

He looked out the window at the officious looking white building. He was going to take a lot of them out with him. He pulled out the bottle of activator and shook it. It was almost gone.

He pointed it at his face and began spraying. There would be enough, he thought, as he got out of the car and walked towards the building. As the activator soaked into his skin it itched and burned, and he knew that whatever was going wrong was getting worse.

Across the street an unremarkable looking man in a black hat and suit snapped shut a set of binoculars, made a note in his notebook, and casually strolled away. He'd made all the observations of Douglas Pensieve that he needed to make.

* * *

"He's entering the building," yelled Charlie from the Situation Room, watching a video monitor over a junior agent's shoulder. "You really called that one Libby."

Olivia was already heading towards the lobby, and if she heard the compliment she didn't acknowledge it.

"Okay people," Charlie shouted to the assembled agents. "You know your assignments, let's get moving."

The agents flew into action.

* * *

Douglas Pensieve walked through the door's of the FBI headquarters and immediately knew his plan wasn't going to work. He was less than five paces through the door when the dozen or so people in the lobby were pulling out gas filtration masks out of their pockets and donning them.

Many of them had guns, and leveled their weapons at him. Everyone was shouting, telling him to drop his gun, put his hands up, drop to the floor, and to not move. He dropped to his knees and held the gun up over his head. His face hurt.

Two large men in severe business suits with closely cropped air watched him through the bug-eyed lens of their masks. They approached him slowly, and one of them reached carefully for Douglas's pistol.

Above him, at the top of large central staircase, a woman appeared on the landing. It was the same blond agent who had come to his home. She was still alive, but she wasn't wearing a gas mask.

Douglas lowered the gun and pressed it against his throat. Everything kept going wrong. Douglas couldn't pretend that there was a way out anymore. The two agents immediately took a step back.

"No!" screamed the woman as she came down the stairs. Douglas looked at her. She seemed genuinely concerned. "Don't do it Douglas!"

She ran down the stairs towards him, taking them two at a time.

"I didn't mean to kill them," he offered weakly.

"Douglas?" she asked as she approached. "Are you active?"

Douglass face burned, his skin taut and red. Boils spread across his face, with dark red blooms of spongy fungus erupting to the surface. His whole body ached and trembled. The bags under his eyes were swollen, and the world was becoming a blur.

"Douglas," she said calmly as she reached into her pocket. "I'm Special Agent Olivia Dunham. I have a cure for the microfungus infecting you, we can end this."

Dunham pulled out a large hypodermic, showed it to him.

"This can all be over," she promised.

Douglas reached out and took the hypodermic from her.

"You need to inject it into your posterior," she said with a faint smile. "And then this will all be over."

Douglas met Agent Dunham's eyes, they were soft and warm, full of concern.

"Please Douglas? No one else has to die."

Douglas coughed, sputtering. The fungus was expanding, spreading under his skin, and it was in his throat now, crushing his windpipe.

"I killed so many people," he cried, but his words were almost incomprehensible.

Agent Dunham placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She reached for the pistol, and he felt her fingers brushing over hers.

The pistol popped, a loud wet explosion. Olivia felt backwards, landing hard on her seat, while Douglass Pensieve slumped forward.

* * *

Olivia crouched down in front of Pensieve and reached for the pistol. As the tips of her fingers made contact with the cold metal barrel, it roared to hot fiery life. Douglass Pensieve's head rocked backwards, and Olivia fell back as hot blood, crimson fungus and bits of bone splattered across her face.

Douglas Pensieve slumped forward and fell across her legs. She sat silently for a moment, then leaned forward, putting her arms around his still body and rocking him gently.

The expression on her face was not one of sorrow nor sympathy, but hard, cold anger. Every time she turned around more and more people were dead, more lives snuffed out for what purpose? Sick games being played by sick minds, decent people being caught up in the mad experiments of some shadowy legion of rogue scientists. What purpose did it all serve? What did ZFT want?

As she held Douglas's body, felt the warmth leaving him as his heart stopped and the blood drained from his body, her jaw tightened with resolve. She was going to find out, and when she did, someone was going to answer for this.

**THE END**


End file.
